The Absurdity of a Late Lunch.

Wednesday was the first time I ever ate cheese fries and chili dogs in an examination room at a gynecologist's office. Is that hard to believe? Maybe so, but it happened. Before you start wondering, I'll explain right off the bat that there wasn't any particular emergency. I could have stayed at home with E. (daycare was closed), but M. didn't want to drive on the icy roads, such as they were. So we all got bundled up for a cross-town jaunt to a hospital complex I had never even noticed. I can't say I was specifically enthused about going, yet it did make a certain kind of sense to have me behind the wheel. The main problem was my hunger, as I had chosen not to eat before we left. I had taken an early walk instead.

After we made it to the destination and found parking in the indoor garage, and checked in with the receptionist, I sat down and realized that I needed something to eat. The doctors were at lunch and we anticipated that it might be awhile before M. was in for her appointment. It was easily apparent that I was going to be cranky until I had something in my stomach. I got the go-ahead from M., and I didn't waste any time getting underway. I stepped outside onto Federal Street and looked for an eatery. I passed a fried fish-and-chips place, and decided quickly against stopping with the foresight that it would have been an alimentary disaster. The last thing I needed was to be sick for a couple more days.

Next I was tempted by a delectable image on an advertisement in the window of the Pizza Hut. Who knew that they now offered macaroni-and-cheese with REAL bacon? Unfortunately, after a quick surveillance, I realized that there was nowhere to sit while waiting for an order. Plus I had no idea what the hell else I could get to go along with the the mac-and-cheese. I don't like that chain pizza. My quandary deepened as I ran out of options on the "institutional" side of the street. I'd have to venture across Federal St. to the ramshackle independent "eateries" on the degraded side. Even getting over there was a bit of a hassle, with the rain and the sleet and the ice. I hit the opposite curb and skirted an open pit in the sidewalk.

There were four joints lined up in a row, as if the crumbling strip they inhabited meant to serve as a desperate bulwark against the corporate onslaught of homogenized "progress". And I felt a tiny bit guilty about my skepticism as I passed each in turn. These were the hauntings of the "Old North Side", their habitués presenting vague possibilities of danger in their poverty and "otherness". But surely employees at the hospital frequented these places as well? They looked dirty and unkempt under the gloom of the Pittsburgh winter. My appetite dictated that I make a quick choice and throw the weight of a potentially foolhardy confidence behind the search. As you already know, I chose a hot dog shop.

Ironically there were two businesses in that cluster that served hot dogs as the main attraction. My decision was based upon the way that the words "Steve's New York Style Hot Dogs" were painted on the window. They had a cleanly rendered traditional script that I found inviting. The cook was a young man of few words, and he was assisted by an older woman that spoke on the phone in alternating languages. The two worked methodically, and the food was simply prepared. How bad could it be? After what seemed like ten minutes, I grabbed my bagged lunch and went back to join M. in the waiting room. I had just set the messy conglomeration of junk on my lap when the nurse called us in. I managed to avoid spilling stuff everywhere.

Fun-and-games at the Grocery Store.

M. has decided that it's a big help for me to accompany her and Baby E. when they go to the grocery store. It just so happened that this past Saturday's weather forecast seemed to suggest treacherous road conditions, and cabin fever looked to be a distinct possibility. Ordinarily I would have no interest in going to the local strip mall during a weekend afternoon, but I knew that it made sense in our circumscribed world. We bundled up the tyke and set off, me driving at about half the speed I would normally attain due to passengers and ice. Naturally there was a hint of slip on the road and people were already driving like idiots. I don't get drivers who think panic makes them more adept behind the wheel.

When we got to the store I realized that everyone had anticipated the types of difficulties that we had. Perhaps the weather forecast is sponsored by Giant Eagle (I really don't know). There were a lot of folks in the aisles that seemed as oblivious as they probably had been on the streets outside. I'll be forthcoming and admit that whatever attitude I had when I walked through the sliding automatic doors was accentuated by the fact that I had only slept about four hours. I quickly made an executive decision to follow M. around blindly and not try to make any tough decisions. Through hindsight I have determined that this was wise. I would have been completely dazed and over-stimulated otherwise.

My main objective was to find a way to make the trip fun for E. and I. The first thing I focused on was his vocalizations. For some reason, he was especially happy I was along. He kept beaming up at me from his metal bench at the front of the cart. I guess he wanted to let me know about his good mood, as he was shouting out some funny stuff of his own devise. So I thought it was only right to return the favor at an enhanced volume. Perhaps it annoyed some particularly stressed patrons. If so i wasn't aware of it, and I wouldn't have cared regardless. In my condition I felt like E. was speaking my language, and I wanted to make sure there was a dialogue. I know that he appreciated it because we both got progressively louder.

Then I realized that certain customers were actually paying attention to us. Of course I had to start clowning around. In an exaggeratedly solicitous voice I kept asking E. what kind of dog food he wanted. I explained to him that the nuances of flavored mixes, and that he might prefer something with fish in it. Again I knew that he was entertained because he was laughing maniacally by that point. Meanwhile we started getting some strange stares from people. I pointedly asked him if we were all out of Robitussin, and if he had finished the last of it, as I had been too blitzed the night before to remember. The exchange was especially amusing because he had a prominent bruise on his head from daycare that was easy to notice.

Having scandalized the joint already, I decided to mimic stealing stuff off the shelves, hoping E. would take my cue. I even took off his mittens to facilitate the learning process. He was all kicked back with a gangster lean, hand dangling innocuously over the side. We went through the cookie aisle several times. E.'s got the kind of face that makes others love him almost immediately, so our developing scam is especially effective. I just have to figure out how to identify my favorite products for him, and he needs to learn how to hide the more valuable items where no one will look. I figure that we have plenty of time to work on the act. He'll get more wily as he continues to grow into his cuteness. He does indeed make the supermarket fun.

Sunday Dinner.

Yesterday I took part in a venerable American tradition that I've been aware of for decades. I don't recall the first time I heard of the "Sunday Dinner", but I imagine I must have been told about it from one of my schoolmates. We didn't do it at my house. It's not like we didn't eat on the Sabbath, but it wasn't any big deal. There was nothing special about that meal. I guess because I've never really experienced it, I find the idea rather charming. To get together once every week with extended family and friends seems like a valuable habit. It can be the linchpin for a close-knit community of support and camaraderie. I think it could be something that I would look forward to throughout the rest of the week.

As it is, my side of the family has been scattered by our individual temperaments. I don't remember there being any kind of pressures or expectations regarding staying in the place where I grew up. That's a bit strange because my patriarchal line has lived in Eastern Pennsylvania for about 280 years. It occurs to me to wonder why and how we lost our ties to the land. Maybe things like "Sunday Dinners" are the brick-and-mortar of stable and sustained association. I can only speculate how these things work. I wasn't born in a small town... I don't live in a small town. I don't particularly relate to the songs of John Mellencamp. I've conditioned myself to avoid the type of sentiment that trades in "quaint virtues".

One major impediment to building a template for a regular event like a "Sunday Dinner" is my own (and my wife's) relative indifference to preparing food. I hate to think of the type of fare that would be provided if I was in charge of the table. The gracious host that welcomed my friends and I yesterday put out homemade vegetable lasagna, mushroom-barley cream soup, and fresh bread. Her son made a pumpkin pie with a brandy sauce from scratch. There was even unpasteurized whole milk fresh from a local farm. Now that's good eating, and something I rarely get. But it was really the company that ultimately made the evening. We sat around a big wooden table across from each other.

My typical supper consists of a cold-cut sandwich or something I pop into the microwave directly from the freezer. Occasionally I cook up some spaghetti, but use all processed ingredients. I wouldn't feel right about serving up that kind of stuff for the rest of my little family, let alone other guests. Yet it would be extremely satisfying to gather in the domestic bosom and "break bread". I wouldn't be downing my food while surfing the computer, or watching television. There would be real conversation, like last night. It happened to be the case that I knew everyone our host had invited to her place, yet my interactions with each of them had been in separate circumstances. That added another dimension to the discussion.

After we were done eating, no one rush off right away to meet other obligations. We lingered and continued talking. We relaxed and enjoyed a smoke or two. I think that's a necessary component for doing the "Sunday Dinner" properly (not the combustibles, but the pause from the everyday hustle-and-bustle). I'm not a particularly religious man, but there is something to be said for a "day of rest". That doesn't mean nursing a Saturday-night hangover, half-dazed on the sofa in front of some bad programming. Instead it's akin to a considered reappraisal of priorities and attitudes. There's something inherently beneficial in this sort of interaction. Folks tend to come into better focus.

The State of Pittsburgh Cuisine.

Months ago I got in an argument with a suburbanite about his belief that there are no good restaurants in Pittsburgh. Much of my opposition to his stance had to do with my general contempt for people who choose to live outside of the city, and yet miss no opportunity to put it down. I immediately question what these folks really know about life in Pittsburgh. I wonder how often they get out of their strip mall developments and take in some genuine urban culture. While it's not impossible for some "foodie" to make it a point to venture forth from their McMansion and explore an unknown neighborhood, I have a hard time valuing the opinions of outsiders. However at some level I know that this is narrow-minded of me, and that I shouldn't make too many generalizations.

I will concede that the 'Burgh isn't (and shouldn't be) known for its cuisine. What meal can we associate with our town? A sandwich with cole slaw and french fries piled on top of it? That's not very impressive. What about the pierogi or kielbasa? It's certainly true that there is a long tradition of Eastern Europeans in Western Pennsylvania. But this is true of several cities throughout America, and it's hard to make an exclusive connection between Pittsburgh and (for instance) halushki. You can definitely hit up some quality food festivals in the many ethnic churches dotting the area. I'd expect that to be true in any town of significant size. So what else do we crow about here? Heinz Ketchup? Who's going to get that excited over a friggin' condiment?

I'm a transplant from Eastern Pennsylvania, and so I am no stranger to unique dining traditions. The Pennsylvania Dutch have an entire menu of items to boast about (dried corn, pot pie, shoo-fly pie, headcheese, scrapple, etc.). Then there's Lebanon bologna and Taylor Pork Roll sandwiches throughout the area. Philadelphia has its world-renowned cheese steak (which is authentically served with Cheez Whiz), and is also noted for its quality soft pretzels. Of course the City of Brotherly Love is a huge city compared to Pittsburgh. It's got thriving ethnic neighborhoods that specialize in different types of cooking. Chinatown and Little Italy serve up their favorites. It's got multiple Latino sections that offer their own culinary delights. And with its access to the ocean, Philly also promises the prospect of quality seafood. If there's one thing I miss about living on the other side of the state, it's the variety and quality of the food.

Here in Pittsburgh, we claim to have our own Little Italy. Yet this is a bit of a sham, as Bloomfield is small and has murals of Polish Revolutionary War heroes to greet visitors. There isn't a hint of a Chinatown, and virtually no Latino presence. It has plenty of bars- each of which offer their own version of deviled crabs, hard bolied eggs, and beef jerky. However, to date there are still no Zagat-rated restaurants in Pittsburgh. How can this be? Doesn't anyone care? There are currently 18 places awaiting review. They include Mallorca, Cafe Allegro, Lidia's, Casbah, and the Chrch Brew Works- all decent restaurants where I have enjoyed myself. But we also find stuff like the Cheesecake Factory and Fat Heads Saloon on the list. Is this really the best we have to offer? No wonder people aren't clamoring to provide reviews and ratings.

The truth is that we do have a mix of decent (if not extraordinary) restaurants and eateries. I've written previously about Bona Terra, a Sharpsburg establishment of fine dining. It's informal, cozy and exquisitely presented. There are ethnic curiosities, including Abay (Ethiopian), Lemon Grass (Thai), Taste of India, and Tram's Kitchen (Vietnamese). And there's Max's Allegheny Tavern on the North Side, which is far and away the best German restaurant I have ever experienced. It's like entering your long lost grandmother's house- it's got a great selection of authentic dishes, it's bountiful, and reasonably priced. If there is one place I'd recommend as a can't-miss, it would be this one. Now all I need is a decent diner or two (God, how I miss the East Coast when I'm in the mood for that), and I'll be fat and happy.

Bon Appetit!

Having a brand new kid has made me reconsider a lot of life choices that I have been taking for granted for many years. I suppose it's only natural to second guess myself now that my decisions more directly affect someone else. While it's not so crucial that I make hard-and-fast, life-changing judgments immediately, it seems appropriate that I initiate some basic considerations. There are many areas of my life that reflect values I have held consistently and consciously for a long time. But other habits have developed as a result of perceived necessity, fleeting preference, and/or convenience. When it comes to eating, my behavior has been influenced by all three of those factors.

It strikes some of my friends as odd that I should be so particular about "consuming" certain things (books, films, music), yet when it comes to food I am rather indiscriminate. I have often admitted that I have an extremely unsophisticated palette. At home I make very few meals. I do sandwiches, spaghetti, or some basic version of quesadillas. That's really about it. If I want something different, I generally have to go out to some sort of restaurant or order for delivery. I've only had those options on a regular basis for the last decade or so, due to financial constraints before that. Because of these long-lasting limitations, it should probably be no surprise that I stick to the conventional offerings.

The problem with all of this is that the typical American diet is unwholesome, and a bit gross. This is a meat-and-potatoes nation, and even those standards are usually cooked in an extremely unhealthy manner. Just about everything is fried. The United States loves its french fries, wings, onion rings, cheese sticks, burgers, donuts, eggs, fried chicken, and cheese steaks. Hell, this is the only nation where one could reasonable expect someone to develop a fried OREO. And if it's not fried, then it's invariably smothered in grease and oil, filled with sugar, or jammed into pockets of fat. I think I read somewhere that three-quarters of the menu offerings in every eatery in the US are virtually identical. If it's not true, it sure seems like it. The vast majority of what we eat is a corn byproduct.

I would think that the situation outside the home closely mirrors what's happening in private kitchens across the country. Generally businesses cater to the lowest common denominator. What else are "the people" eating? Another indicator of the unfortunate state of our national cuisine is the typical public school lunch menu. If you haven't visited your local school lately, you would be stunned to see what the government allows cafeterias to feed the kids. How about mini corn dogs, nachos w/cheese, fruit cup, and 2% milk? Sound pretty nutritious to you? OK then, try ribbie sandwich, chips, baby carrots, and chocolate milk? They usually just put "cook's choice" on the schedule when they serve up stuff like this. It's better public relations. And believe me, whatever it looks like on paper... it's different when it's resting there in slabs on the little styrofoam tray.

To make matters worse- this stuff is invariably the lowest quality product from an uncaring, mechanized, nationwide, corporate agribusiness industry. It is engineered to meet the basic standards of a national government board for the absolute minimum cost. I don't know all of the ins and outs of the policy procedures for mandated nutrition, but I can say without reservation that the system is broken. Not long ago a huge amount of ground beef was judged by the USDA to be substandard, and was belatedly recalled. Much of that meat originally found its way into the nation's school lunchrooms. It was consumed by children. I don't know why the American public tolerates such a disgrace. The youth are being trained to eat offal. I wonder who will be held responsible. I guess we'll be packing lunches for Baby E.

Drink a Tall Glass of Milk.

Ever since I was a little kid, I have enjoyed drinking milk fresh from the carton. Unlike many children, I didn't need the adulteration of chocolate to stomach its taste. I'd simply drain it directly from the glass. I honestly don't know where this preference comes from. It's a bit of a mystery as to why we like what we like, so I'll not try to speculate on it too much. My maternal grandparents always encouraged me to consume as much milk as I desired, even promising to go out to the store should their supply run out. For some reason I've always preferred skim or 2% milk, but I wouldn't turn my nose up at whole milk. It's very thick on my tongue, but once in awhile I like it for a change of pace.

Despite our society's official advocation of milk (it's been a staple of the school lunch program for as long as I've been alive), there are many that caution against its consumption. It's not too difficult to find outspoken critics. Here's a site that is particularly vocal about the dangers of milk. Some highlights include death by cancer, mad cow disease, obesity, chemical and hormonal poisoning, etc. If you want a reason to stop your intake of milk, then this is a great place to find a reason. The case is even made that this food is even particularly inefficient at delivering the substance it is most often promoted for- calcium. Not only do people question the necessity for the FDA's recommended amount of calcium, but they say that there are better sources for it than milk.

Still, with a minimum of internet searching, you can find plenty of sources that dispute the assertions of milk's critics. This article actually claims that drinking milk decreases the risk of heart disease. Some nutritionists and researchers suggest that its consumption can prevent osteoporosis, reduce hypertension, help fight the risk of tooth decay, and decrease your risk of colon cancer. In addition, American milk manufacturers started supplementing their products with Vitamins A and D. While some may charge that any and all boosters work directly for the dairy industry, it's kind of hard to ferret out the truth.

One thing I can say for sure is that I am skeptical about the way milk is processed by the American dairy industry. A bit over ten years ago, the federal government approved the use of recombinant growth hormone (rBGH) to stimulate milk production in cows. This synthetic chemical mimics natural substances produced in bovine pituitary glands. Some observers were worried that rBGH was responsible for the onset of early puberty in American children, but the research doesn't necessarily support that conclusion. However, studies have proven that the use of rBGH and the antibiotics used to treat cows that are rendered more vulnerable to mastitis (due to rBGH) can be hard on the animals. Even more troublesome was the FDA (and state departments of agriculture) practice of banning labels notifying the consumer when artificial growth hormones are not used.

Commercially accepted processing techniques also tend to cloud the picture. Pasteurization is used to kill bacteria in milk stocks- it involves heating the liquid for a time, and then cooling it off quickly afterwards. This process kills e coli, salmonella, listeria, and other types of toxic germs. Homogenization is done to give milk a consistent texture by dissipating its fats evenly. There is a current trend of buying and consuming "raw milk" (neither pasteurized nor homogenized). This is legal in 26 states, including Pennsylvania. Consumers who prefer this milk claim it is richer in taste and more nutritious. Apparently pasteurization destroys the "good bacteria", protein and enzymes naturally contained in the beverage. Many imbibers take both physical and legal risks to procure their supply- there are actually black markets popping up throughout the nation to service their needs.

Whatever conclusions I ultimately draw about the benefits/risks of pouring a glass of milk everyday, there are a lot of considerations to sift through. It seems that the most fervent battles regarding food are fought over the dairy case.

Berkely Springs, WV.

Well... every once in awhile it's good to have a complete getaway. Part of the joy in such a trip is shirking responsibility and dropping everyday routines. During my first two forays on the road this summer I still felt some pressure from the inertia of this blog. Even though I had met my goal of a year of posts, I still felt compelled to write daily entries. That wasn't the case this time. M. and I drove to Berkely Springs, WV. We chose the location as appropriate for a private weekend. It's only about three hours from the 'Burgh, and the driving mostly avoids the type of mountainous roads that make M. nervous. I had never been there before, and had planned on doing more research than I had, but then the power went out and we spent a tense and hot night in the dark. So when we left Friday morning, we were mostly blind to the area.

The claim to fame of Berkely Springs is that it was the first major spa destination of the republic. Luminaries such as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Meriwether Lewis were known to take the waters there. It contained sulfates, carbonates, and nitrates, and was considered to be good for digestive ailments and stress relief. When it comes out of the mountains, it is 74 degrees Fahrenheit. There are still multiple spas in modern day Berkely Springs, and they still attract a lot of tourists from the Washington DC area. But the area has also tried to build a reputation as a small-town arts center, and it contains an artist co-op in a converted ice house. Walking down the few streets of downtown the visitor sees galleries, fancy gift shops and a few fine restaurants. Predictably the wares are the furthest thing from being edgy. The stuff is mostly meant to be high-priced wall decoration. And most of the businesses close at 5PM, no matter what day it is. The town is not known for its sparkling nightlife, so if you go- plan your evening activities elsewhere.

We did eat two meals in Berkely Springs. The first was at an Italian restaurant called Maria's Garden. The proprietors are clearly Catholics, and they have a counter where you can buy Christian lit, and sundries with the images of saints. The food was decent, if a bit misleading. M.'s vegatarian sub had bits of meat that were left over on the grill. My Chicken Cacciatore had large chunks of beef in the meat sauce. I began to belief their conversion efforts were twofold, though everything did taste good. Last night we ate Mexican, and it was standard fare. I was extraordinarily pleased to discover that the Creamery (where we got dessert) featured Butter Brickle ice cream. You can't get that in the 'Burgh.

The most distinctive part of our little vacation was definitely our accomodations. M. booked us a little place from Berkely Springs Cottage Rentals. It was called the Back Creek Cabin, and I believe that it lived up to its billing. We had to take a series of increasingly dodgy backroads to get to the place. They narrowed until the point that they were clearly one-lane paths. At the end of the wooded trail was a steep incline that would be impassable if wet and muddy- at least without an ATV. All through our stay I worried that it would rain, and we would be stuck. We were very fortunate in terms of the weather. We also felt lucky when we got in the doors of the cottage. It seemed that the people in charge of the place had thought of everything. Considering its remote location, we were amazed at how well appointed it was. There was a full kitchen with microwave, a TV with VCR, DVD and Direct TV, and a queen-sized bed with lots of extra pillows and blankets. Two comfy recliners were provided for lounging. Outside on the porch there were some great chairs and a grill. A fire pit with a stockpile of wood was nearby. But the biggest treat was the A.C., which was especially appreciated after our experience with the blackout at home. Someone even thought to keep it running for our arrival. The place was immaculately clean and thoroughly insulated. For its reasonable price, we were quite pleased- what a great little hideway!

During our first night there, I think we were the only people on the mountain. I took a walk to check out the scene. There were a few other scattered cabins and lodges, but no cars or lights in sight. The thick woods obscured the surroundings. This fact made it especially cozy and special. Whenever I went outside the cabin and sat for a cigarette, I marvelled at the sounds of the chirping insects. Between the crickets and cicadas, it sounded like the deep jungle. I loved it. I turned out the porchlights and stared up through the trees at the stars. The total darkness accentuated the experience, and I had the minor thrill of being (almost) totally alone in the wilderness. It made going inside and watching late night television a unique experience. On the second night our distant neighbors were whooping it up with loud country music. A sharp disappointment accompanied the shattering of my illusion of isolation. But once night fell, and the sounds of the forest asserted themselves, I was happy again. It was exactly the experience I had been looking for.

Some Thoughts on Reducing World Overpopulation.

So the other day I identified overpopulation as the overriding concern of the 21st Century. A decrease in the amount of human beings has the potential to ameliorate many of the dire conditions we seem to be facing. I also posited the theory that we could confront that problem through a humane approach that minimizes suffering. I want to be clear that I believe the world population will take a hit, one way or another. If we don't take this seriously, we risk allowing nature to come up with its own ways to spread waves of death and disease. In fact this could happen reagardless of what we do through intentionality. But we should be able to figure out ways to affect a change without imposing additional pains on the world community.

Clearly we have the ability to address population concerns in our own nation. A fair objection to moving in that direction is that we are not currently overpopulated. We do have over 300 million people on our landmass. I don't doubt that we could squeeze more in without immediate disaster. But I wonder why we would want to. There is already much discontent over rising imigration. American citizens are anxious about the availability of jobs and social resources. That problem is not likely to go away in the coming years, and I don't believe that building a wall across our border is an efficient solution. If we continue on our course we will eventually encounter difficulties with congestion akin to that of developing nations. We do not have the luxury of sitting on the sidelines while the rest of the world descends into disorder.

There was once a time when our political climate supported an isolationist strategy toward the world community. For better or worse, this is not the case. Besides, when food and water become scarce, large waves of humanity are going to be on the move. Unless we are willing and able to mow down hordes of desperate foreign nationals, we are going to be forced to involve ourselves in their situation.

Within our own borders we can certainly set policies which discourage reproduction. One simple way to do this is to offer tax incentives for people who have less than two children. Obviously if a woman decides not to procreate, then she should reap the greatest rewards. For those who are uncertain how to keep themselves from getting pregnant, we must offer education and services to assist them. It's unlikely that the Christian Coalition will allow the government to subsidize abortion, but we may be able to convince church leaders that birth control is a necessity. If not, then a massive government-backed P.R. campaign must be initiated to target their followers. We can position ourselves as a dominant nation as long as we are in the forefront of population control. We have a good resource base to sustain a large amount of citizens. The conditions in the United States are simply not as dire as in other regions. The most important thing is to preserve the notion of choice. People can not and should not be compelled to stop procreation. We must make it a more desirable option to make the opposite decision.

Obviously I am not advocating that we impose a population reduction strategy on other nations' governments. But just as within our own country, we should be promoting that end result to the best of our ability. We should reconsider our current practice of sending food abroad. Despite the fact that we helped create the conditions that encouraged overpopulation in regions that simply cannot support them, we should not compound our guilt. Our humane assistance should consist of birth control alternatives. By giving them food aid alone, we merely prolong the suffering over subsequent generations. While I'm aware that this suggestion sounds callous, I don't see any other way to resolve the situation. It's a hard reality, but ignoring it is not truly humane. It's just a quick solution for making ourselves feel better about our own overconsumption. We should not be in the business of trying to spread our way of life. The Earth simply cannot sustain that.

I don't mean that we should simply cease contribution of food aid, but that we should tie it to the acceptance of birth control programs. It is always within a nation's prerogative to refuse to participate, but by doing so they should be willing to forfeit all aid. Either they are self-sustaining, or they are not. If they are not, then they have no right to expect to set the terms of the charity that they accept.